I'm sorry you don't get it, Mom. Sometimes I don't get why I do the things I do. I just know I wake up every morning and wish I was dead.

I'm sorry you don't get it, Mom. Sometimes I don't get why I do the things I do. I just know I wake up every morning and wish I was dead.

I know it's hard on her. If I don't tell her she'll kill me." He pauses. "That was supposed to be funny.

I didn't tell him. And I never told her the whole truth. What would it matter? There was nothing she could do; nothing anyone can do or will do.

I'd decided to write him and tell him to leave me alone. Please, in a nice way, go away, I really can't deal with you.

She responds by kissing me harder and longer and deeper. She loves me too. She's just afraid.

What I know is you can't go back. You can't press delete and re-key your life.